


Making Fools

by alicekittridge



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Feelings, POV Third Person, Present Tense, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicekittridge/pseuds/alicekittridge
Summary: She doesn't want to be careful.





	Making Fools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yotoob](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotoob/gifts).



> I figured after 2x04 I would attempt to write something soft and happy and this came out. Probably going to be the last oneshot for a while, seeing as I am booked with schoolwork from now till next Tuesday.
> 
> There was supposed to be a Moulin Rogue! reference somewhere in this fic but I couldn't find a place to put it in, so just pretend either Villanelle or Konstantin said "Love makes us act like we are fools" and one of them raises their brows at the other because wow, I didn't know you liked musicals...
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for your love xx

The last time Villanelle had been in Amsterdam, Eve Polastri was in London distracted by someone else and Konstantin spent his constant time convincing her the distraction was permanent. And Villanelle had believed it for a handful of miserable nights.

            Not so long after his rescue of her from the club, Konstantin had taken her to one of his favorite high-end restaurants, told her to order whatever she wanted. Asked her, “Why do you like Eve Polastri so much?”

            Then, Villanelle could only glare at him. How dare he ask her that question when he’s spent however many weeks telling her Eve wasn’t thinking of her. She glared deeper and stuffed more fish into her mouth to keep from speaking.

            Now, in bed with the woman in question, with Eve sleeping soundly in the warmth of the sun streaming from the window, a thousand answers jump about Villanelle’s head. _Eve’s hair. The little lines at the corners of her eyes. Her mouth. Her skin. Her body. Everything._ Villanelle slowly raises herself onto an elbow. Eve looks like a classical painting. Never boring. Something that could never hang in a museum to be looked at. She runs her eyes over the places she’d kissed, recalling the feel of Eve’s soft skin under her mouth. There are red love bites on the curves of Eve’s shoulders—she didn’t want Villanelle to leave anything visible on her neck—and her breasts, and, Villanelle knows, the insides of her thighs. She can do nothing but stare, in awe that Amsterdam would take this kind of turn, that after being so cruel to her before it’s giving back.

            And Eve, who is here partially for work and partially out of a ruse, will have to take the train back to London in the afternoon. She’ll miss it if she continues to sleep like this, but Villanelle is enjoying the tranquility, the feel of domesticity. She reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind Eve’s ear. She could get used to this.

            Eve stirs at the touch, coming to slowly, blinking against the sunlight. She stretches her limbs and Villanelle wants to be wrapped in them all over again.

            “What time is it?” Eve says. Her voice is low, raspy from rest.

            “A little after eleven,” replies Villanelle. Her fingers trace Eve’s collarbone.

            “Shit.” Eve glances at the clock, curses again. “I should’ve packed instead of going to bed with you.”

            “You don’t regret it.”

            “No.”

            “Pack after lunch,” Villanelle murmurs. “Are you hungry?”

            “Are you?”

            “Yes.”

            Eve sighs. Villanelle thinks she’s one of those people who wouldn’t mind staying in bed all afternoon. But Eve moves after a minute, sitting up, rubbing her eyes, and says, “Lunch sounds good.”

            “Come here a minute,” Villanelle says, taking Eve’s hand, and closes the distance between them to press a kiss to Eve’s mouth. It tastes like sleep and leftover lipstick. She sighs into it, cupping Eve’s face between her hands.

            “Your stamina terrifies me,” Eve says, properly climbing into her lap, kissing back.

            “You’re not saying no.” Villanelle slips a hand south, between Eve’s thighs. Touches her lightly. Inhales sharply at the slickness her fingers find. Could it have been dreams? she wonders, trailing her lips across Eve’s throat, down to her breasts, tracing the marks she’d left the night before. Or is that what a few minutes of kissing does?

            “Shit,” Eve breathes, reaching down, wrapping her fingers around Villanelle’s wrist when she slips fingers inside. “Just stay like that, right like that…”

            Villanelle obeys. She has to have Eve again before they go their separate ways: Eve to London, she to a different part of the city where Konstantin is surely waiting for her.

            They have lunch at a café by a canal. The buildings and bicycles and boats and people reflect on the water’s surface. Villanelle stares at them while she waits for Eve to return from inside the café, where she’s ordering seconds and dessert. She remembers looking down at the water from the bridge, she and Konstantin drinking smoothies in the warmer weather.

            “Don’t be foolish,” he’d said. “You have to control yourself.”

            “I hope nobody told you that when you were in love with your wife.” He didn’t say anything, and she continued, “It’s not that simple.”

            “It is.”

            “It isn’t.”

            “Fine,” Konstantin conceded, holding up a free hand in surrender, “but be careful. I don’t want to have to rescue you from clubs.”

            Villanelle turns back to the café’s entrance, where Eve appears carrying a tray of food. Her hair is down and free. She’s wearing a pair of darker jeans paired with a navy blouse. There is no tension that Villanelle can see in her posture, or in her expression. No, she seems… light. Happier. It makes Villanelle swallow.

            She doesn’t want to be careful.


End file.
